A few of these are from my heart
And some are from my head
But most are from when I was bored
Or wide awake in bed.
Champagne writes just as much as I,
Or would do, if it could:
I find it hard to write when drunk.
But probably that's good.

Occasionally, dreams break in.
I wish they would much more.
I do enjoy the weird stuff but
I think you would be bored
With meaningless short stories,
In non-existant places
And schizophrenic actors
With shifting masks for faces.

There's some stuff here means more to me
Than you can ever know
But if you dislike dribbling men,
You're always free to go:
I understand that soppy stuff
Is not the best of verse.
And sorry if I cause offence
When I am rather terse.

If any thought contained herein
You find appeals to you,
Don't hesitate to ask its source
Or find out my view too.
Remember that I lie sometimes,
And that some words are whines:
Please try not to dissect my rhymes,
Nor read between the lines.

And if that's you, my princess,
I'm sorry for this stuff
But as you ought to be aware,
I'll never write enough
To drain away my bitterness
Or kill my misery:
It's all a futile effort to
Pretend she could love me.